


Patience

by xXxVioletSkyxXx



Series: The Mandalorian [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, ManDadlorian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXxVioletSkyxXx/pseuds/xXxVioletSkyxXx
Summary: It hadn't been a full day since they left Sorgan, and Din struggled to let the child out of his line of sight. The Crest wasn't a large ship, but the child was so small. Din couldn't bear to feel the way he had when a shot echoed across the krill pond, the sudden, terrible thought that the child had died.He hadn't, of course, but it had brought to light the inescapable thought that Din's desire to protect the child was more than just perfunctory. He cared for him, and Din wanted to protect the child from further harm.
Series: The Mandalorian [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088117
Comments: 10
Kudos: 148





	Patience

It was late before Din settled in the cockpit of the _Crest,_ and as he prepared the ship for the jump to hyperspace, he could hear the quiet chirps of the child from the pram. Din had no reason to adhere to a consistent night cycle. When he was alone providing for the tribe, he slept and ate when he needed to before moving to the next bounty. He had survived off stale rations and recycled water, using the sonic setting on the shower unit rather than wasting water for bathing. His cot was narrow and hung with springs, and more often than not, Din was too fatigued to care where he slept. Sometimes he slept fully armoured, his blaster resting on the hook beside his pillow.

He entered the coordinates for his next bounty into the navcomp, his fingers flying over the same buttons and knobs he had a thousand times before. Their jump into hyperspace was a jolt Din anticipated, but the child made sudden noises of discontent from his pram, unaccustomed, apparently, to space travel. 

Din turned to the child with a bemused expression, not that the baby could see. The child was still, sitting upright with a guarded expression. Din had expected tears, but this child was uncommonly silent. Children were loud; they made their feelings known. _Not this one,_ Din thought with a sudden crease in his brow. _What had happened to silence him from crying?_

It didn't matter that the kid was older than Din; he was a child, an infant. Infants cried when they were afraid. 

Din wished he had kind words to spare, comfort to offer. He knew little of the way of children, having been raised away from those who would coddle and adore. The Way was harsh, unforgiving. Unsuitable to the smallest of creatures, and Din wished that he had a softness to give. 

(Mostly as a habit, Din had learnt early that silence in the face of uncertainty leant in his favour more often than not. Silence beneath full _beskar_ and a helm was intimidating and hid the reality that Din found himself floundering in complex social interactions. He was blunt, coarse, but so was the way of the _Mandalore)._

But the child was different.

Din reached behind him, taking the child in his arms. "You're ruining my reputation, kid," Din muttered, his lips quivering into a smile as the child babbled and reached for the soft fabric of his cowl. Din settled the child in his arms, cupping the baby's shoulders in his hands. The child blinked his large eyes and smiled a toothy smile before reaching for Din's vambrace, his claws scratching at the _beskar._

"Better?" Din asked softly, rocking the child gently in his arms. 

It hadn't been a full day since they left Sorgan, and Din struggled to let the child out of his line of sight. The _Crest_ wasn't a large ship, but the child was so _small_. Din couldn't bear to feel the way he had when a shot echoed across the krill pond, the sudden, terrible thought that the child had died.

He hadn't, of course, but it had brought to light the inescapable thought that Din's desire to protect the child was more than just perfunctory. He cared for him, and Din wanted to protect the child from further harm. 

Still, Din was a bounty hunter. A warrior, the face of the Mandalorians in Nevarro. He was no _buir._ He had been raised in the community, but the only father he had ever known had died when he was a child himself. No one in the covert had claimed him, and the feelings of disconnection, abandonment even, clung to him. Kids didn't deserve to grow up unwanted, or worse, experimented on by Imps. But protecting the child alone didn't make him a father, let alone a father to a child with skills such as his. 

The child yawned, raising his arms above his head in an exaggerated stretch. They hadn't been together long, but Din had catalogued the child's sounds and actions indicative of hunger, of tiredness. His eyes were red, and the little sounds he made were the ones he made around this time. The needs of a child were complex, but he was learning.

"Bedtime," Din said, standing.

The child mewled into Din's chest, clutching the straps of his cuirass as the airlock slid open with a shock of screeching metal. Din cursed the Jawas in Mando'a, reminding himself to fix the door mechanism when they landed.

Din descended the ladder carefully, holding the child securely to his chest as he reached for the rungs. He pulled off the last rung and landed more softly he would've had he been alone. For the first few nights after Din rescued the child from the Imps on Nevarro, the child had slept in his floating pram. He was seemingly content, silent, at the very least, to sleep within it while Din rested. But as Din examined the container more thoroughly, he noticed jagged metal, broken durasteel as if the container had been in battle. Certainly, it was not intended for long-term use. Any padding it had once held was gone, and the only protection the child had within it was his ragged jumper.

Ignoring his own need for sleep, he made the jump from Sorgan to hyperspace and returned to the cargo bay, stopping for a cup of caf in the galley before beginning his work. 

Din had stayed up most of the flight while the child slept in his cot. He was no artisan, and he had no tools designated for such a job as this. Anxiously listening for sounds of the child waking, Din had worked his smelting tools over the exposed metal and plasteel. He moulded them carefully, mindful of rough edges, using liquid adhesion to secure his old flight suit to the interior when the container was safe. He repaired the mechanism that opened and shut the pram and re-programmed his vambrace to respond more fluidly. The child slept on, and once Din had finished, he carefully packed away his tools and stood. His back and thighs burning with the strain of sitting on grating for so long, but Din ignored them, hobbling softly to where the baby was, tucking himself in beside him. 

Din still hadn't recovered, resting when the child slept, listening for the autopilot. The day had passed in a blur, and Din was ready for rest. 

The child sat quietly on the edge of Din's bed, his little hands clasped tightly in front of him, as if unsure how to best proceed. 

Din had never seen a creature like him, small and green with large pointed ears. He was an infant, but he wasn't helpless. He was a child in need of care, and Din hoped that he was enough. 

He brushed a finger over the child's forehead and laid him on carefully on the cot, pulling the soft blanket Omera had given him to cover him more thoroughly. The notion of removing his armour in front of the child had been one he had tried to avoid. Certainly, children were permitted to look at their guardians helmless and bare-faced. But the child _wasn't_ his. He hadn't adopted him, not formally, at least. Not in the way of the Mandalore. More accurately, Din had rescued and then kidnapped him, keeping the child close to him without repeating the adoption vow he had heard so often when Din himself was a child. The phrase wasn't complicated; it flowed surely off the tongue. But it was permanent; once he was the child's _buir,_ there was no turning back. 

_What was holding him back?_

Certainly, Din knew that he cared for the child. He was fond of his presence; having somebody to talk to and amuse was better than the emptiness of silence. He had credits to spare for another passenger, the skills and ability to protect him when necessary. The floating pram had joined the other cargo in the _Crest's_ hold as if it had always belonged. The child was small, and Din felt indebted to protect him after what he had done in Nevarro, let alone Arvala-7.

The child cooed in his sleep, pulling the blanket closer to his face as he settled. Din smiled and turned away to remove his armour. He was wary of removing his _beskar'gam_ where the child could potentially see. He had yet to remove his helm where the child could see, sacrificing his comfort to bring the child close. He slipped his gloves off and hung them from their thumbs in his armour rack. His vambraces were next, rubbed down with oil and buffed with a cloth. He toed off his boots and knelt down to unbuckle his greaves, slipping his knee braces down his calves. The greaves dropped from the magnetic backing with familiar ease, and Din oiled and buffed them before placing them on their shelf. His cuirass came off with a hiss, and Din took a deep breath as the heavy _beskar_ slipped off his chest. He had worn armour since he was a child, and the weight of a full _beskar'gam_ was relatively new to him, sitting heavily on his body in a way his durasteel never had. It wasn't just the weight, but the history of his culture. The Mandalorians' armour was synonymous with the creed, and Din felt the looks of those who saw him. He was anonymous, a bounty hunter with a price on his head and a pram by his side. The contradiction raised his hackles as if he wasn't worthy of protecting a child who depended on him for everything. The looks were covetous and fearful, which suited Din just fine.

His tassets were next, followed by his pauldrons, which required a thorough once-over. The child had refused his evening meal, and the remnants of that particular confrontation remained, dried to a tacky mess. Din took a half-step to the box he used as a table, dipping his finger into the child's cup, wetting the area before buffing it out with the cloth.

He took a deep breath and undid his cowl, pulling it out of his flight suit before walking to the 'fresher to hang it over the shower unit. 

His flight suit was in relatively good order and didn't require immediate care. So Din removed it for sleep and folded it carefully, shutting the armour rack with a click.

Din yawned from beneath his helm and walked back to the 'fresher, shrugging a tunic over his under-linens to brush his teeth before he slept.

He lit the room and shut the door, carefully removing his helm and setting it on the shelf above the sink.

 _Stars,_ he looked like shit. The skin under his armour was always pale and soft, unused to the sun. But it was mottled with bruises from his confrontation with Cara, his eyes bloodshot and tired. He listened carefully for the child before he rinsed his brush under the tiny sink. He ran a hand over his face, brushing his hair behind him before pulling his helm on once again.

The sound of the door opening and closing startled the child, and Din rushed to the child's side. The blanket had shifted, and Din picked the child up, pulling him close to his chest.

"It's just me, kid," Din whispered, the modulator making his voice sound gruffer than intended. The child blinked open his big eyes, and Din's heart clutched at how comfortable he had become. He was a bounty hunter, a Mandalorian. He was no _buir,_ what could he give this child? He wouldn't always be safe; the path of a man such as him was more often short than long. And once he was gone, who would care for him?

Who would know that the child preferred his food cool, that he liked his pram open so he could see what they passed? Who would know that the child slept better when he slept with others, how he liked to hold on to Din's mythosaur skull and gum at the horns? Who would care to remember that the child liked to walk, even if he couldn't walk very far?

The child blinked and grinned, his hands reaching for Din's helm as he babbled happily.

"Time to sleep," Din said, sitting down on the edge of his cot, letting the kid crawl over his arm as Din settled. Din sighed, pulling his blanket over his body, taking care to leave room for the kid to move around. The alcove was small, barely enough for Din, let alone a child. But the kid liked it. He slept better when Din was close.

The child cooed and took hold of Din's bare foot, using it as an anchor to crawl up his body. Tiny hands gripped his calves like a vice, and Din reached down to take hold of the child and settled him on his chest. Warm brown eyes looked down at him, mewling softly. _How had anyone ever abandoned him?_

"You're mine," Din whispered, taking the child's hands in his own. "I vow to protect you, _ad'ika_. We'll be a family, you'll see."

And softly, Din pulled the child close, so their foreheads touched. His heart beat so loudly he was sure the child could feel it, but Din's heart nearly burst with happiness. _Finally, he'd have someone to whom he'd belong._

 _"Ni kyr'tayl gai sa'ad,"_ Din said, smiling into the child's eyes. 

The child gurgled, his eyes bright and warm into his own. He wouldn't be perfect, but he would try. Each and every day, he'd try. He'd remember his father, the Mandalorians in his covert as a child. He'd love this child, and this child was his own. 

_A clan,_ Din thought with a burst of happiness. _A clan of two._

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @leiainhoth


End file.
